


Green Glitter

by plethodon_cinereus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Agender Character, Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Relationship, Crowley Wears Makeup (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Fem!Crowley, Fluff, Gay Fashion, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Makeover, Makeup, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Queer Culture, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plethodon_cinereus/pseuds/plethodon_cinereus
Summary: Fluff scene where Crowley does Aziraphale's makeup before a date night. Aziraphale is agender/masc presenting and Crowley is genderfluid/fem presenting.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Green Glitter

It’s been eight months since Armagaddidn’t. Aziraphale and Crowley are confident that Heaven and Hell are leaving them alone (for the time being at least). Crowley is sitting in the Bentley waiting for her angel to come out of the bookshop, absentmindedly tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. The sunset creeps down the horizon spilling a cascade of colors over the crisscrossing powerlines. The image is so uniquely _Earth_ with the combination of extraterrestrial beauty and man-made infrastructure.   
The bookshop door clicks shut with a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers pulling downward from the sky as he walks across the sidewalk to the car. Crowley is once again struck by the warmth and goodness radiating off the angel. His white-blonde hair curls into a halo that accentuates his impossibly tiny smile. Crowley is pleasantly surprised to see that he wore a forest green tie (still tartan, of course) with his usual cream-colored suit like she’d asked, so they could match. She’s wearing a slim fitting black suit jacket and tie with a shiny green silk shirt; embracing the era’s modern androgyny with a pleated drop waist skirt instead of the standard black pants.   
She gets out of the car and swaggers up to Aziraphale, who greets her with a hug that surely must be sending miraculous flashes of love over the entire city. The two laugh and kiss happily, finally free from their overbearing respective head offices. Crowley breaks off the kiss and gestures to the car, turning her head to hide her blushing cheeks.  
“Alright, angel, we should get going. Still up for doing makeup first?”  
“Anything you like, my dear.”  
Crowley grins, “Get in the car, angel.” She drives off like the speed demon she is, at one point driving on the sidewalk just to see Aziraphale’s endearing nervous wiggle.   
“Honestly, my dear, it is completely unnecessary to be speeding like this,” he huffs in mock annoyance.  
The two walk into Crowley’s gray-walled loft practically tripping over each other like they’re already drunk (Aziraphale will say public displays of affection are angelic because they show love, while Crowley will be adamant that such actions are demonic and annoy the general public). She jokingly clasps the angel’s butt and is rewarded with a surprised yelp.   
Aziraphale admires the array of makeup palettes and brushes laid out on Crowley’s table and notes the large mirror covering a nearby wall that must have been recently miracled. Crowley starts in on applying foundation while Aziraphale opens each makeup palette one by one, swatching the colors he likes onto the back of his hand.   
“Do I need to wear that?” he asks pointing to the foundation.  
“This shade is going to be way too dark for you, angel. Just a moment.” Crowley waves her hand upward and an identical-looking compact of powder appears on the table, which she holds up to the angel’s face triumphantly  
“Here. Your gorgeous face won’t need much anyways.” She kisses his cheek and moves down to nuzzle against his neck. Aziraphale takes a deep breath to inhale the floral scent of her hair, which has recently grown out into loose shoulder-length waves. He lifts Crowley’s chin gently to initiate a passionate yet gentle kiss.   
“Oi, angel! Watch the makeup,” she scoffs, entirely unnecessarily considering that the two supernatural entities could easily miracle it to look perfect, although they never would because it’s one of the many human rituals that Crowley loves.   
“Of course, my dear. Well, let’s get on with it then,” Aziraphale winks  
“Mmmhmm,” is Crowley’s reply. “I’m thinking let’s stick with the classics for you? Black eyeliner and maybe bring a bit of the green into the eyeshadow. How are you feeling about brows? Or contour?”  
Aziraphale nods enthusiastically despite barely understanding a word his partner is saying. “I haven’t worn makeup in over a century, my dear. Do it all.”  
“Oh fuck yes. We definitely need this highlighter on those cheekbones of yours. I think you swatched it on your left hand there,” she taps the block of pale glistening color near his knuckles, “I’ll use the glittery eyeliner too.” Aziraphale sits on the table with a happy wiggle next to the array of makeup and closes his eyes. Crowley begins tracing his eyes with the promised black liner and follows up with liberal amounts of green shadow swept into a cat eye.   
“It looks wonderful!” he exclaims, looking across at the mirror. Crowley switches to the brightest white glitter they have and brushes it into the corners of his eyes. Aziraphale hands her the contour palette he had been admiring earlier and she taps a large poufy brush into one of the darker colors.   
“Make a smoochy face,” Crowley commands. The angel leans forward and plants an exaggerated kiss on her lips.   
“Like that?”  
“Cute. But no.”   
Aziraphale complies and sucks his cheeks in a bit so Crowley can contour. He relaxes them back when he sees her switch to the highlighter. “That is going to look lovely,” he says. Crowley nods and expertly traces it onto his cheekbones, and a bit on the jawline.   
“Done. What do you think, angel?” she says   
Aziraphale gets up to look in the mirror, “Lovely! Thank you, my dear. What are you going to do?”  
“Just something simple. I don’t draw attention away from the skirt,” Crowley emphasizes it with a swing of her hips. She begins lining eyes in the same black shade. Instead of the dramatic wings she drew on Aziraphale, she opts for simple thick lines and uses matte white shadow on her lids. Crowley easily creates a muted smoky eye and contours her cheekbones as well, resulting in a very put-together androgynous look.  
“It looks gorgeous, Crowley. Of course, you are always beautiful with or without makeup, but this is perfect with your outfit,” Aziraphale lets himself state at the love of his life, finally free to do so. Crowley is absolutely in her element, relishing in the modern human fashions as always. Even though he’s never understood the appeal of anything past the early 1900s, Aziraphale has to admit that the modern style is perfect for his partner. Free from the confines of her obligation to hell, Crowley looks happier, healthier. Less worn. Still mischievous, of course, but she causes mayhem of her own liking purely for the fun of it.   
Crowley laughs, loud and open and real, pulling Aziraphale against her. Ethereal sparks fly out of the space between them, and neither is sure whose miracle it is that keeps them balanced in the intense embrace.   
Dichotomous thinking, good versus evil, the forbidden nature of their love; none of it exists in the rising winter night. The couple walks into the Ritz for their date hand-in-hand to show off their newfound freedom. They drink just enough champagne to float about in a happy, love-filled buzz. Aziraphale uses many “frivolous miracles” to ensure all of London has a lovely evening, whatever that may mean to each and every individual. Crowley enjoys herself by giving a cheating husband food poisoning, letting the air out of the tires of a teenage boy’s car after seeing him grope a girl walking down the sidewalk, switching the drinks of a man attempting to drug his date. The two supernatural entities are high off of life in a way unique to them: both earthly and ethereal.


End file.
